L'il Bits
by bundysbaby
Summary: Small, short prompts from my everyday writing exercises.
1. Chapter 1

**When** ** _she_** **was three…**

 _Up, Daddy Up!_ Weren't daddies the most wonderful boys in the world?

 **When** ** _he_** **was five…**

 _"No, I don't wanna visit Uncle James and Aunt Nell! They're old!"_ And they were no fun for a rambunctious little man.

 **When** ** _she_** **was seven…**

 _But why can't I go with Mart and Brian. It isn't fair!_ Brothers always got to do neat things, and she was expected to learn how to crochet. _No Way._

 **When** ** _he_** **was nine...  
** _  
Look Dad! There must be about fifty deer in that herd!_ All the wonders of the forest were unfolding to his eager mind.

 **When** ** _she_** **was eleven…**  
 _  
If you do that one more time, Tad Webster, I'll…I'll kick you where it hurts!_ Stupid boys, especially him, always tugging on her curls. She had a good mind to shave them all off.  
 **  
When** ** _he_** **was thirteen...**

 **** _I hate you, God._ All that was left was the mound of dark dirt. And _him_.

 **When** ** _she_** **was thirteen…**  
 _  
Moms, I met the most wonderful boy in the world. His name is Jim, Jim Frayne._ He was soooo cool. And handsome. And what was that little flutter when she thought about him?

 **When** ** _he_** **was fifteen...  
** _  
Gosh, she is pretty. And those eyes!_ He wanted to tug on one of the tousled curls. And what was that little flutter when he when thought about her?

 **When** ** _she_** **was fifteen…  
**  
 _I hate men. I hate all of them, my brothers included._ She took off the little silver identification bracelet, sadly placed it away in her drawer. He was going away, off to college, and all the beautiful, smart, tall college girls who would want to.

 **When** ** _he_** **was seventeen...**

 _I want to stay home, and I have to leave. Again. Please let her wait for me._ He didn't let anyone see him cry.

 **When** ** _she_** **was sixteen…**  
 _  
Oh, gleeps, his lips are so warm and soft and…_ and then she couldn't think at all, after he cornered her in the boathouse, telling her with his mouth and hands just how much he missed her.

 **When** ** _he_** **was eighteen...**

 _She's so soft. And luscious. And mine!_ And then he couldn't think at all.

 **When** ** _she_** **was sixteen and a half…**

 _OHMYGOD, that is cold!_ Her legs were inelegantly spread in the stirrups, but after this embarrassing appointment, she'd be protected. Just in case.

 **When** ** _he_** **was eighteen and a half...**

 _I want to make love with her so badly it hurts._ He trudged to the bathroom for another cold shower.

 **When** ** _she_** **was seventeen...**

 _When can we do this again?_ Her mind was a haze of pink clouds, shooting stars and his fiery kisses.

 **When** ** _he_** **was nineteen...**

 _Home. I am finally home._ His eyes closed as their naked limbs twined together.

 **When** ** _she_** **was eighteen…**  
 _  
Yes, I'll marry you, Jim._

 __ **When** ** _he_** **was twenty...  
** _  
I love you, Trix. Forever._


	2. Holly Would?

The pool in the back of the mansion was sparkling blue in the bright California sunshine. Lounging on the side, the gorgeous bikini-clad woman should have been happy. She wasn't, however. She had a body men would die for, enough money to run the world, a couple of Oscars and a zillion other awards. She jet-setted all over the world and was rumored to date every good-looking man she ever acted with… and then some.

In fact, the lady did enjoy it all. Beauty, brains, talent and money. Her personal assistant -slash - secretary observed her, exasperated that someone as beautiful, talented, warm and funny as Diana Lynch was so miserable. The only time the fabulous Di, as she was known, became genuinely happy was when her Sleepyside friends came to visit. It was only then she could unwind and be herself.

Diana appeared to relax poolside, glasses hiding her famous, incredible violet eyes, contemplating her existence while pretending to read the paper. She did have it all. Everything she worked so hard for all these years. All those years training in Juilliard, taking innumerable acting classes and putting everything else in her life on hold.

Including Martin Belden.

And that was the crux of her problem. She loved Mart since she was six years old and she loved him now. But, he didn't want to leave Sleepyside, and she needed to go. She had to pursue her dreams just as he pursued his. Why couldn't he see it that way?

So, he dated and she dated, making sure their exploits were relayed back to each other through the other Bob-Whites. Of course, that was until everyone figured out what they were doing and stopped participating in their silly game. Diana did feel childish at involving everyone in her and Mart's problems.

And here she was, in a spectacular mansion in Brentwood, alone. And there he was, living in some New York City apartment, a famous investigative journalist, alone.

She laughed at herself, maybe with just a smidgeon of bitterness. All those thousands, maybe millions, of guys out there; they'd never believe Diana Lynch was lonely. And if they did think she was lonely, they would certainly want to correct that situation. The problem was, the only solution was back home in New York and was just as stubborn as she was.

Lisa, her personal assistant, secretary and stand-in best friend came out with an ice-cold glass of milk. "Brooding again, Diana?" She arched a plucked brow.

Diana gave a little snort through her elegant nose. "You know me too well, Lise." She took the icy glass and sipped daintily. "It just doesn't get any better."

"Both of you are just too stubborn. Neither of you is going to make a move. You know, I hate to tell you this, but Mart Belden is a good-looking guy. One of these days, one of your Sleepyside friends is going to call and inform you he's engaged. And then what are you going to do?"

"He didn't support my dreams, Lisa. He didn't want me to come out here. He didn't want me to leave New York. I was supposed to stay and support him and his dreams. It just so happened our dreams were 3000 miles apart." She ran an agitated hand through her jet-black hair.

"You were both young and hardheaded. Now you're going to grow old and be hardheaded. Is that what you really wanted? Or to marry somebody you're not in love with?" Lisa patted her employer on the arm. "If I were you, I'd get my ass on the next flight to JFK and go straighten this mess out."

"But what if he says no, Lise? There's still the fact that his job is out there and mine is here. How we can reconcile that?" She wouldn't be able to stand it if she went out there and laid her soul bare only to be rejected.

"You know what, Diana Lynch? You're spoilt. You have a curio cabinet full of awards. A manager, a publicist, a personal assistant, a gardener to take care of your grounds, just a bunch of people to take care of your every need. And never say no to you. What's the worst that could happen? He can say so sorry, moved on. And then you'll be able to move on, too."

"It's a good thing I love you Lisa, or else I'd sack your sorry ass for insubordination."

Lisa patted her employer's arm again. "True friends tell you the truth, Diana. That's why you love your Sleepyside friends so much. You're not Diana Lynch, the famous movie star to them. You're Diana Lynch, a poor little rich girl who found laughter and love with six great people. It's time you remembered that again." Lisa's cell phone began its incessant chiming, and she left the pool area to take care of whatever crisis in Di's career that was occurring now.

Diana sat there for the longest time, thinking about what Lisa just said. With a new resolve in mind, she rose from the lounge chair and strode through the French doors.

She smiled that famous thousand-watt smile that launched a million male fantasies.

Mart Belden, late of Sleepyside, New York and currently resident in the greatest city in the world, was not going to know what hit him. She would make damn sure of that.


	3. Girl Talk

"Trix, I don't mean to gross you out, but have you and my brother, ah… have you done _it_ yet?" Honey's face reddened.

"What? Given each other fond glances? I would say, _hell yeah_ ," Trixie responded dryly. "I think we cornered the market on fond glances."

Honey stamped her foot. "That's _not_ what I mean, and you know it." She sat next to Trixie on the twin bed and glanced around her room. _Fit for a fairy princess_ , she thought, _waiting for a kiss from her Prince to awaken her from her long sleep._

Except her Prince Charming wanted a bit more than just a kiss. He wanted it _all_.

"I know Mart and Di have umm… _hadsex_." Honey rushed out the two words as if she were spewing the most awful swear words.

Trixie sighed heavily. "Who doesn't know that? I won't even sit on the sofa anymore in the clubhouse. It creeps me out, knowing all their bodily fluids are smeared all over the cushions."

"Ewwww. _Gross_. Is that where they meet?" Honey blinked her big topaz eyes at Trixie.

"That's what Di says," Trixie flopped back on the bed. "I told her to talk to you about her escapades with my brother. It just skeeves me out."

"Brian wants to," Honey confessed. "But I'm scared." She flopped down on the bed next to Trixie, staring at the ceiling. She thought she was over all that scaredy-cat nonsense. And it was easier talking to her boyfriend's sister about their non-existent sex life while looking at the ceiling.

Trixie leaned up on one elbow, searching Honey's face. "Do you _want_ to?" She swallowed the gorge that was rising in her throat. Anything for her best friend!

"I _think_ I want to. When Brian kisses me, it's all I can think about. And then I get scared when he wants to go further. And he gets frustrated," she said, a bit tearfully. "When I think about all those college girls he's with who probably do…" her voice trailed off.

"What are you scared about, Honey? Brian's not trying to force you, is he?" Trixie's voice was gentle.

"Oh, no, not at all! He tries to be patient, really, Trix. He tells me he loves me all the time. But when we… when we get to a certain point, I get frightened. Scared I won't be good enough, scared it will hurt, scared that um… I won't see whistles and bells and pink shooting stars."

Trixie thought for a moment and answered in a slow, serious voice. "Brian loves you, Honey. All of you. Don't forget he is going to be new at this, just like you. He's probably scared it won't be good for you, too. And I heard the ummm… hurting thing is nothing more than a pinch."

"Do you think so, Trix? He always looks so in-control and experienced."

Trixie sat up and patted Honey's knee. "That's Brian for you! Why don't you talk about this with him? I'll bet you two can come to an understanding."

Honey bit her lip. "You're right Trix. I really do need to talk with _him_." She gave a wicked smile. "But I'm not gonna tell you how it turns out."

"Just be safe," Trixie intoned in a valley-girl voice. She knew they both were. Their mothers had dragged both of them, kicking and screaming and protesting, off to the gynecologist when they were 16, and both were on birth control. "And _don't_ use the clubhouse!"

Honey giggled and yawned, prompting Trixie to jump in the other bed. "Oh, no. The hayloft. I already picked out the place."

"TMI, Honey. Good night."

Less than 15 minutes later, Honey's breathing and slight snores let Trixie know her best friend had fallen into a deep sleep. She slid out of the bed, opening the door and crossing the hallway, slipping through the open door on the other side. It snicked softly behind her.

A pair of familiar, strong arms pulled her against a hard, warm, bare chest, and Jim bent his head. "I thought you would never get here," he whispered in her ear, sliding his mouth down the side of her neck. "I thought I was going to die waiting for you."

"Just helping out my best friend," she moaned. His hands were busily divesting her of the tiny tank top and matching boy-shorts she wore, and she was sliding off his flannel pants. Just before Jim fused his mouth to hers, Trixie wondered if Honey realized that she had never responded to her question. She wondered if Honey realized just how much she was sleeping over at the Manor House lately.

And then Jim swung her up in his arms, stepped right out of his pants and they tumbled onto his bed, and neither of them could think at all.


	4. Sing to Me

Jim Frayne headed into the intimate karaoke bar in SoHo, New York City. Baby Grand was one of the best bars for scoping out some new and interesting talent. Sure, a lot of the times most people just covered a song in the style of the original artist, but occasionally someone had that elusive spark of originality.

He had steered a few of them to new careers in the entertainment industry. Oh, no-one hit it big yet, at least not superstardom. It was gratifying, though, to see his clients doing something they loved and getting paid for it. And of course, he received his percentage, too.

The place was pretty crowded, but then again it _was_ Saturday night. When he was shown to his table, he grinned at the three men on the stage, singing loudly and sourly, some old country song about a guy getting his heart broken by the love of a bad woman. It was all in fun, and the audience cheered them on with great enthusiasm.

A gorgeous woman stepped up next, and Jim sat up straighter. _She certainly has the looks_. She smiled at the three guys leaving the stage, accepting a quick kiss from the blonde-haired man. He watched as the men sat in a corner table, occupied by two other women he couldn't quite see.

The woman on the stage was identified as Diana, and she announced in a breathy voice her song was dedicated to her fiancé, Mart.

Jim wanted to plug his ears. She chose _I Will Always Love You_ , sung in the style of Whitney Houston, and oh, my. It was the bane of karaoke bars everywhere. Most people simply could not attain the high notes, and she was one of them. It was heartfelt, however, and he had to give her props for that.

The next person up from that table introduced herself as Honey. Jim knew that face. It belonged to the beautiful and mega-wealthy Madeleine Grace Wheeler, aka Honey. What was she doing in a karaoke bar in Manhattan? She smiled over at the table and one of the dark-haired men waved back.

Her voice was nice. That's all Jim could say about it. She chose to sing _Love Story_ by Taylor Swift and it was… nice.

Jim was nursing his beer when the third girl from the table stood up. There was a slight murmur in the crowd, and his attention, which had been wandering, was caught by the petite dynamo charging up the stage. Unlike the others, she did not glance over at the table with a fond look. In fact, she didn't even look like she belonged to that group.

Where the other women were tall and willowy, she was petite and curvy. Oh, so very deliciously curvy. Just like a woman should be. She was wearing skin-tight black leather pants stuffed into black leather boots. She had on a black leather sleeveless vest that did nothing to hide her substantial assets. And that hair! Those eyes! That lush, pink mouth…

Her hair was a cascade of thick, shiny blonde curls and his fingers itched to tug one. Just to see if it would spring back to its position. It was evident that the color was natural rather than from some bottle or hours at the hairdresser.

The woman introduced herself as Trixie, just Trixie. Her eyes were the biggest, brightest blue Jim ever saw, and even from a distance he could see they were thickly fringed. She had a pert little nose and her voice was a little husky.

Jim's libido immediately leaped into life.

However physically attracted he was to the blonde, he figured another sappy love song was on tap. It was the same in every karaoke bar he ever visited.

She shocked the audience and him when she announced what she was going to sing. No Taylor Swift, Adele or Whitney for her. Her whisky-flavored voice announced she brought some music and she was going to do something semi-original.

A mash-up of _Livin' on a Prayer_ and _Start Me Up_. Two hard-rock songs that were a little out of step with today's Beyoncé, Mariah Carey and Selena Gomez ditties. Jim harbored his doubts that the bubbly blonde would be able to pull it off. There weren't that many women that could do justice to the rough rock sound, but it should prove interesting.

He was wrong.

Boy, was he wrong.

Before long the entire room was on their feet, dancing to her tune. She danced and strutted around the tiny stage as if she owned it exuding pure, mind-blowing sex. All too soon, the song ended, there were calls for an encore. Jim was stunned when a charming rose flush spread on her high cheekbones.

Damn. He hadn't seen a female blush since grade school.

She glanced over at her table, said a word or two to the karaoke operator and segued into _I Love Rock 'n Roll_ by Joan Jett. She was sassy and sexy, swaggering across the stage like she owned it and everyone in there.

Which she did.

Trixie sat down to thunderous applause and left the audience begging for more. Jim gave the high sign to the owner, and Jack leaned over to hear over the caterwauling of the next – and he used the term loosely – singer.

"Can you ask her to come and see me here? Trixie. The last singer."

He watched as the man threaded his way through the tables and bent down to speak to the woman. Six heads swiveled in his direction, and Jim tried to look nonchalant. But damn, he _had_ to talk to her.

Jim watched as she perused his card, said something to the others at the table, and followed Jack to his table. "Jim Frayne, this is Trixie Belden." Jack made the brief introduction as Jim stood and pulled out a chair for the beautiful blonde.

She was breathtaking close-up. Yeah, her two friends were pretty, too, but there was something about her. A presence, a liveliness and a hint of mystery and danger lurking below the surface.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Frayne?" Trixie could barely get the words out. This was one fine man. He was tall, with red hair, the most haunting green eyes and a sprinkling of freckles. His mouth was well-sculpted and she couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to taste it. His shoulders were broad and his large hands didn't look soft like most of the guys who hit on her.

"Jim, please. May I call you Trixie?" At her nod, he continued. "You are quite a talented musician."

She laughed then. Not a twinkling, little fairylike laugh, but a genuinely amused, right from the belly laugh. "Me? I'm not a musician at all. I just like to sing in the shower. My friends made me go up there."

 _Oh. My. God._ This woman with the whiskey voice and angel-bright looks had _no idea_ how talented she was. "Believe me when I tell you that a voice like yours comes along once in a generation," he replied dryly. "I should know. My family owns FTA." At her look of confusion, he elaborated. "Frayne Talent Agency. We represent some of the biggest celebrities." He named a few of them, expecting to elicit a gasp.

"That's nice," was all she said.

"I'd like to talk about representing you." Hell, he'd like to wake up with her in his bed.

"Me? Whatever for?"

"This." Jim waved a hand around. "Your singing career. You have the chops. You can become the next superstar."

She snorted out a laugh. "But I'm not looking for a singing career, Mr. Frayne - Jim. I live in a small town, oh, about ninety minutes from here. The two women I am with and I own Sleepyside Secrets and Sins, a mystery, thriller and spy bookshop and café. I'm no singer."

"But you could be," Jim persisted. "You have a singular talent, Trixie." Not to mention a smoking hot body that was even now causing him no little amount of distress.

"Thanks, Jim, but no thanks. Showbiz is not for me." She stood up to leave and he stood with her, his eyes hungry and fingers itching to unbutton that skin-tight vest.

"How can I persuade you?" He grinned at her, a lopsided, charming grin that went straight to core. _Damn, I'd like to take him for a ride._

She winked at him, put a sassy hand on one hip and her lips curled up in an insouciant smile. "There is one thing you can do." She leaned forward, just a little, and he couldn't help it. He licked his lips.

"What's that?" His voice was low, hoarse and sounded just like liquid sex.

Trixie tossed her head full of magnificent curls, swiveled, sashayed a couple of steps away, and turned her head back to give him a sidelong, sexy glance. And then she said three words before rejoining her table that left him breathless.

"Sing to me."

 _A/N: I know this was a little longer than a L'il Bit, but this is where it fit in best! Thank you, everyone, for your comments and support!_


	5. Summer Rainfall

The Resort at Mead's Mountain looked vastly different in summer. Instead of blinding white trails, a verdant lawn surrounded the lodge much as the Caribbean embraced the islands in the sun. The wild perennials lent a festive, colorful air to the meadows and the air was freshened by their sweet scent.

They were both a little nervous checking in at the front desk. Both visited the resort a few times, but always in the company of others. This was their first time alone, unchaperoned. This was the first time they sneaked away from everyone just to have some time for themselves.

This was the first time they'd be sharing a room together. A room with a bed in it; one where neither of them had to bid good night to the other and leave for home.

It wasn't as if people didn't know about their relationship. A person would have to be a mindless, shuffling zombie not to know. At first, they hid it from everyone. After all, they were intensely private people and both were not the type to indulge in PDA. Some things should be just between the participants. Neither was the type to post continual updates on Twitter or salacious exchanges on Facebook.

Sexting and sending naughty pictures via their phones was not in their genes, either. Being involved in tons of criminal cases taught them well.

 _Never_ leave evidence.

She couldn't help blushing when he checked in. It was almost as bad finding the room and toting their suitcases inside, having people know exactly where they were headed. And when the door shut…

There _it_ was.

A king-size island to explore their sensuality. To not sleep in. Oh, _my_.

No worries about someone walking in on them, or getting a telephone call.

It was silly to be this nervous. It certainly wasn't their first time together. But there was something intimidating about being alone in that room with that huge piece of furniture lying in wait.

As ever, he was attuned to her moods.

"What do you say we just dump our things here and take a walk? Work off some of that energy from being cooped up in the car for so long." He knew there were better ways to work off that energy, but he didn't want it to be awkward.

She flashed her bright smile at him. "That sounds wonderful."

The scenery was gorgeous and the huge lawns manicured and bright. They held hands as they walked along the well-marked trails and talked of inconsequential things, as lovers do. They met other couples and families, nodding and smiling and just enjoying the day and being together.

Ever so slowly, the natural response to being close to one another began to wend its way through them. They stopped along a burbling creek, watching the tumbling water and the bright flashes of the fish as they darted hither and yon.

He tugged her close. "It's beautiful here," she said, her voice reverent and filled with the awe of nature.

"You're beautiful." He looked deeply into her eyes, and lowered his lips to hers. It was sweet and gentle at first, a mere tasting of the lips. He pressed harder, his tongue running along the seam of her mouth, and she gladly granted him entrance.

There were countless kisses and murmurs of love and longing as the two lovers became wrapped up in each other. Things were becoming heated, right up until the first few drops of rain fell. Startled, they stared at the darkening sky as the clouds decided to dampen their ardor.

They dashed back to the hotel, laughing, as the warm summer rain soaked them. Her t-shirt and shorts clung to her in a most energizing and erotic way, he noted with male appreciation. His muscular arms and well-defined six-pack were clearly visible through his wet shirt, making her sigh.

They made it to the porte coachére, laughing madly. He swung her around, eyes appreciative of the appealing, lovely, lighthearted picture she made. He'd remember this moment forever.

"You are gorgeous," he told her, the sincerity in his tone making her believe it.

"And you are handsome, so handsome I feel like I'm melting whenever you just look at me."

"There's a bed waiting for us, Margery," he whispered.

"What are we waiting for? Let's go, Wendell."

Summer magic.

Summer rainfall.


	6. Driving Ms Trixie

"Babe, I'm never going to get this birdseed out of my bra," Trixie complained, but with a huge smile gracing her gorgeous face. They were firmly ensconced in Jim's ancient, old Jeep, headed towards their honeymoon.

"I can help you with that," he laughed as they merged onto the Garden State Parkway in New Jersey. "In fact, I can't wait to do so!"

"You never told me where we're going, Jim. Don't you think it's time you 'fessed up?" Their wedding was an intimate affair at Crabapple Farm, followed by a dinner for family and close friends at Sleepyside Country Club.

Just what they wanted, low-key and reflecting who there were.

"I guess I should. I thought it would be fun to take a road trip to Disney World. We have reservations at The Grand Floridian, one of the suites in the outer building with a lagoon view. I think that's perfectly perfect, fun honeymoon for us."

Trixie's eyes lit with excitement. "I always wanted to go there! Oh, Jim, we'll have so much to do!"

"Yeah, besides Disney, we can do Universal, and there's a whole lot to do in Orlando, too. I figured we'll take a couple of days to drive down. Take our time, see something of the East Coast while we're on our way."

"Sounds super. Do you have reservations anywhere else?"

For once, the logical, uber-planned and cautious James Winthrop Frayne wasn't. "Nope. I figured we'd just stop somewhere on the road. There are plenty of places on I-95."

Before long they were crossing the Delaware Memorial Bridge. "Gleeps, Jim, I just blinked, and we are in Maryland. I think I totally missed Delaware."

"Are you getting hungry, Trix? I thought maybe we'd stop somewhere and drive a little more. Then start looking for a place to stay."

"I am, babe. I only had a couple of bites at our reception. I was too busy kissing you."

"What are you hungry for, baby?"

"You."

Jim kept his eyes on the road, even though her word sent a shock that reverberated through his entire being. "Well, you can have your way with me as soon as we stop for the night."

"Oh, I intend to, James. How about we just stop at one of the rest stops and grab a pizza or something? I don't want anything fancy, and we do need to find a place to stay."

"Sounds good to me, baby. There's a rest stop coming up in a few miles. We'll stop there."

True to his word, they pulled into the busy stop. Jim gassed up the car while Trixie went inside to the restroom and to scope out the food court. Just as she thought. A Sbarro's. That fit neatly into their plans.

When the two entered the building, it was starting to get dark. They took their time eating and were so engrossed in one another, they were surprised to find it was pouring outside. Simply pouring rain.

"Wait here, baby, I'll go get the Jeep."

"I'm not gonna melt, Jim. I'll come with you."

Despite their best efforts trying to run between the raindrops, they were both soaked and chilled by the time they were able to get into the car. "I think we'd better start looking for a place, Trix. I'm a little tired, and this rain doesn't seem to be letting up any."

There were plenty of places to stay. Unfortunately, the horrible weather meant that most had a No Vacancy sign lit. Even the big chain hotels were full up. Traffic was barely crawling as the clouds dumped sheets of water.

"Damn, Trix, I can barely see." Jim was getting worried. He was tired, on dark, unfamiliar roads that were flooded in places, and he had his new bride in the car.

Trixie tried to keep a second pair of eyes on the road for him. She was aware her feet were wet; after all, she had on flip-flops, and they ran through the downpour into the car. But it sorta felt like water was sloshing against her feet. She leaned over and groaned.

"Jim, the car is leaking! By my feet, there's a puddle of water!"

"Damn. Can you tell where it's coming from? I hope it's not the dashboard. Something may short out."

Trixie leaned over and felt around. "It seems from the wheel well, babe."

"I don't want you to sit there with your feet in a puddle of cold water, baby."

"Wait, I have an idea." Jim had a copy of the Sunday New York Times in the backseat he kept forgetting to take out. "Let me just put the Times on the floor… there." The paper was so thick on Sunday, it sopped up the mess and kept her feet a little drier.

It wasn't until Fredericksburg, Virginia that they were able to pull off the interstate and get the last room at a Holiday Inn Express. They were exhausted as they parked the car and dragged a suitcase into the hotel.

"Full house tonight," Jim remarked to the smiling clerk as he signed for the room.

"Bad weather will do that. Thanks, Mr. Frayne." He handed the tall, wet, redheaded man an electronic key. "There's a free breakfast in the lobby and check out time is eleven."

Once the young couple was in their room, Trixie sighed dramatically. "I need to get these wet clothes off and into a nice hot shower. The birdseed is starting to swell."

"I can help you with that," Jim smirked, all tiredness vanishing.

"The clothes or the shower?"

"Both."

"Babe, as much as I want to take a shower with you, this minuscule stall is not conducive to more than one at a time. And as inviting as that bed looks, I don't want to get birdseed all over it."

"Okay, baby. Don't use up all the hot water!"

Twenty minutes later, Trixie exited the steamy room with a saucy grin and a barely there, sheer babydoll set. Jim was engrossed in the Weather Channel and their hyperbolic coverage of another storm of the century, and when he turned to say something to her, he completely lost his train of thought.

He turned off the television and walked up to her, very close and ran a finger along the lace of the sheer cups. "Oh, Mrs. Frayne. How utterly delectable you look." The whole thing was a gauzy white, with a sheer, matching thong.

"I think you better hurry and take that shower, Mr. Frayne," she whispered, running a finger from his neck to the area where his cargo shorts were becoming uncomfortably tight.

"I think you're right." With a last, longing look, he scooted into the bathroom for the world's quickest shower.

When he returned to the room, she had all the lights off except for one soft, dim glow. She was staring out the window through the heavy rains, watching the blurry, watery lights twinkle in the night.

He moved up behind her, encircling her with his strong arms. "We're _married_ , baby," he whispered hoarsely. It was his best, most cherished wish come true.

"I love you, James." She leaned back against him and smiled. "And I'm so glad we get to share a bed now," she teased. "At least we won't get hay sticking here and there or grass stains in odd places."

He swung her up in his arms and placed her on the bed, his hands and mouth doing magical things to her oh-so-willing body. "You drive me crazy, baby," he rasped, divesting her of her pretty lingerie to the gift within.

"You drive _me_ crazy, James."

Yeah, he could live with that.

 _Driving Ms. Trixie._

Crazy.


	7. What She Did for Love

_She wasn't the only one in the family who had detective-ing skills,_ he mused. She'd be very surprised at how much he _did_ notice. How much he could deduce about her in just a few moments.

Like now. She usually breezed into their house, slamming the door much like that ill-used door at Crabapple Farm, a pint-sized blonde dynamo. He winced every time he heard it, but he never said anything. Nope. He was just so happy it was _her_ coming through that door, he didn't care if she pulled it off its damn hinges.

She's been away a little more than a day, fact-finding, she said. He never slept well anymore if she wasn't there next to him; God, he was pathetic. Like now, waiting for her, watching for her, and anticipating that bang and the energy that was so much a part of her.

 _Something didn't go well,_ he worried when instead he heard the soft snick of the closing door. When she didn't come rushing in with a big kiss and a murmured, _I missed you so much._

She practically crept into the room, her eyes shadowed and a wariness, almost a weariness about her. She was chewing her bottom lip, a sure sign of nerves. "Hey, Jim," she whispered, crossing over to him and turning her face up for a kiss.

Those sapphire blue eyes were clouded, and his concern ratcheted up. "Not a good trip?"

"No, it was good." She bent her head and stepped away, wrapping her arms around her body as if warding off a chill. "Wonderful, in fact, in a weird sort of way."

"Where did you go?" She said something before about Wyoming County, clear across the State.

She bit her lip and searched his worried green eyes, "Attica."

"The prison? You had to talk to a prisoner?" He still wasn't putting it together. He might be Sherlock Holmes when it came to deducing Trixie's moods, thoughts and predicting her actions, but he was more like Inspector Clouseau with anything else mystery related.

"I went to a parole hearing," she breathed out. "Jonesy's." And watched as those emerald eyes went wide with shock, as those gentle hands morphed into fists. Then she began to explain, in a halting voice very unlike her own, the periodic visits to the grim building. To face the monster who wanted Jim dead.

Alone.

When she finished, when her voice faded, he closed his eyes. He was staggered at what she had done for him, year after year. _For love._ His mind whirled, swirling with memories: walking alone along those dusty roads at fifteen, scared, tired, defiant. Sullen. Not the son of his dad, but a wild creature almost entirely different than the good boy he'd been. Reaching the decrepit old mansion, the dust clinging to his skin and clothes like a dirty brown skin. Waking up, disoriented, staring into the prettiest pair of blue eyes he had ever seen.

And with that intense, blue gaze, fell into his life.

"There's more," she said, pulling the old photograph of Jim's parents out of her handbag. "He gave me this, trying to make himself look remorseful in front of the parole board. _As if_." She snorted, back to his Trixie, and gently placed his other life, the one that seemed so far away at times, back into his trembling hands.


	8. On the Road,Again

James Winthrop Frayne II crept into the bus station. It was raining, pouring really, and even though it was summer, he was chilled to the bone. He had more than enough money in his pocket to grab a bus upstate, thanks to that feisty blonde. He wasn't going to, not when that bastard was still looking for him. At least he thought Jonesy was still looking for him. He didn't want to take any chances, not with the distinctive red hair that graced his head.

No, he was just going to rest here for a while. Make himself small in the darkest corner of the station and wait for the rain to either let up or stop. He shoved a couple of dollars into the vending machines for some stale granola bars and Coke. Not quite the delicious and nutritious breakfast his mother used to make for him. Or the food that Trixie and Honey provided for him when he was in Sleepyside.

He wolfed down the sickeningly sweet breakfast and hunched down on one of the hard, unforgiving plastic chairs. He people watched for a while, waiting to see if anyone would approach him, but no one did. No one seemed interested in the tall, wet boy sitting by himself in the corner. Relaxing at last and lulled by a full stomach, he began to think about the events of the past few days.

He ran away from his stepfather to his father's family downstate in a little town called Sleepyside. There had been some sort of falling out between his parents and his father's Uncle James. He wasn't sure what it was, but he was sure of the fact that his great uncle lived in a big mansion and had tons of money. Whatever happened between his parents and his great uncle, Jim hoped the man had compassion enough to rescue his namesake from an untenable situation.

Instead, he arrived to find his great uncle in the hospital dying or dead and the spectacular mansion his parents spoke about falling into ruin. Just about that time, when he ran out of hope and was spending the night on a lumpy old mattress in a room that was chock-full of junk, his life took a 180° turn.

Even though he pulled a gun on her, scared out of his wits that Jonesy had found him, he noticed those amazing blue eyes. How she sniffed and tossed her curls, catching the dusty light that shone weakly through the filthy window. He was the one with the gun, but she was the one who shot him down.

From then on, he was pitchforked into an amazing series of adventures. Trixie Belden was a magnet for excitement. Whether it was her little brother getting bit by a copperhead or her taking a header off a horse she couldn't control, she brought a ray of sunshine and hope into his life. When she and Honey fought about whose family would adopt him, his first impulse to laugh quickly died, to be followed by feelings of incredulous optimism that someone wanted him enough to fight for him.

And one little part of his mind, a part that it just awakened around the pretty blonde girl whispered in his ear that he certainly wished that _her_ family did not adopt him. He didn't want to be her _brother_ , not at all.

Now, right at this very moment, all he wanted to do was to go back to Sleepyside.

His great-uncle was dead and the mansion a smoking ruin. Trixie saved the day though, pulling the old mattress out of the burning house. The lumps were not due to age, but due to an old man squirreling a few thousand away where he knew it would be safe. _Now_ I _have that money, a legacy of sorts from Uncle James._

Jonesy was there in Sleepyside, sniffing around for him. _I don't want him to hurt Honey. Or Trixie. Especially Trixie._

 _I must find a job upstate. I just have to. I have to get back to her_. Her? The thought surprised him. He was fifteen years old and the past five years were real tough. He had no time for girls, no time to think about how his body was changing. His life consisted of sick and dying parents, endless hours performing slave labor on Jonesy's crappy little farm, and imagining and plotting his escape from there.

Jim let his mind drift back to his time in Sleepyside. He wouldn't mind having Honey for a sister. She was pretty, gentle and kind. Seriously though, he'd feel out of place in that big mansion she called home. He bet she had to get all dressed up for dinner every night.

However, it would be nice to ride Jupiter again.

Trixie's house, now that was more to his taste. Comfortable, clean, homey, and it smelled just like home. Home before his dad died, before his mother had to sell up and before she married that… that _criminal_. Mama made the most delicious things, and he and Dad always offered to do the dishes.

She was pretty, too. Not Mama, although she was. Trixie, with those bouncy, bright curls and that great big smile. She was kind of fearless, too, and that worried him, just a little. He had no doubt she'd take Jonesy on herself; she was _that_ kind of a girl.

He wondered what it would be like to kiss those lush, soft-looking lips.

Jim shifted in the uncomfortable seat, and someone pushed the door open, letting in some watery rays from the sun, along with the suffocating humidity after a summer shower. _Time to get going again._

The tall redheaded boy stepped out onto the damp, cracked pavement, looked south and sighed. _Maybe someday…_


	9. Dear Jim

Dear Jim,

You probably don't remember me, but I surely remember you. Then again, with your prodigious memory, you just might. I wanted to reach out to you and tell you something. Tell, not ask. I am sure you're sick of people asking for a handout. So, please, keep on reading.

I can't offer any excuses for what I did. What we all did back then. I think we were afraid of him. Your stepfather, the man you never name when you are interviewed. I know why; it gives him power and for so long, you were powerless.

I never understood how your mother could marry a man like that. He never would leave her alone, not even for a second. We all could see how he hated you. The way he looked at you. A reminder of your father, and he couldn't move past it. We all saw and to our shame, did nothing.

We suffered with you when your mother died. We hoped for the best. Did we turn away at the worst? My conscience tells me we did.

The desperation in your eyes stayed with me long after you left. Were they bloodshot from crying? From tiredness? From drugs? No, never drugs. Not _you_ , although it would have been so easy to dull your aching.

You wore long-sleeved shirts even on the hottest days. But we all knew what that fabric concealed. We knew when you came in limping, when you hunched over your desk in pain.

We knew what was happening at the farm, but we told ourselves it was our imagination. It was a farm, for heaven's sake. Accidents happen. Black eyes are normal.

But not _that_ many times.

Accidents are not a punch to the kidney or the striking of a whip across the back. Oh, we saw, no matter how hard you tried to hide it, and we failed you. I failed you. The system failed you.

We thought it couldn't be _that_ bad. You never complained. Never asked to go to the nurse or to see your guidance counselor. But, you also never joined any after-school activities. Never even looked at a girl. They all had crushes on you back then. Were you even aware of them?

We were so proud of you, though. Winning that scholarship, hands down. We preened a little, all of us. It was partially due to us, our wonderful teaching. That's two sins now, if you're keeping score. Looking away and pride.

I don't think anyone was surprised when you didn't return in the fall. And then, the newspaper articles started. We all pretended to be shocked, even when the reporters came by to ask questions. But we were fiercely happy for you, Jim. You must believe me.

I still remember that grainy photograph. Matthew, Madeleine and Honey Wheeler, your new adoptive family. And the blonde girl you were standing next to, the one with the amazing head of curls. I don't think anyone noticed your hands were lightly touching. And she, quite a bit shorter than you, in this defiant, protective stance.

A thirteen-year-old girl doing what we couldn't. What we _wouldn't_.

Do you know she came to see us? Later, after you were married and she was traveling for Locard. She gave a little presentation about Cyber Crime to the school and we were thrilled to have her. Trixie was pregnant at the time, but oh, Jim. She was _fierce_. There was a little meet and greet for the staff later, and she lit into us about not protecting victims of abuse, meaning you.

She was right.

So, why am I writing this? I don't know. To ask your forgiveness, when I can't forgive myself? To let you know how utterly sorry I am? Yes, definitely.

I just wanted you to know, Jim. We should have reported it. Shoulda, coulda, woulda. We can't go back and change what happened, but we learned from it.

If you got this far, thanks for reading. I think of you and your beautiful family often and wish you well.

Sincerely

Jolene Thatcher (ret.)


	10. 28 Days

Trixie's breasts felt swollen and tender as the first cramps began to assert themselves. She waited impatiently for Jim to get home, getting crabbier by the second. She was uncomfortable and damp and he was taking _forever!_

As he walked in the door, he prayed that she would be able to read, open, and follow the directions by herself. His special girl lost every bit of brainpower during the first day of this time of the month, replaced by sheer animal savagery.

"About time you got home," she snarled.

 _Oh, boy_. He handed her the bag without a word. Because he knew no matter what he said, it wouldn't be right.

Trixie stomped off into the bathroom, coming out a while later, absolutely miserable. She knew how to use the feminine hygiene products, but was flummoxed by the blue box that rattled.

"I can't open this stupid thing, Jim." She practically threw the offending object at him. The cramps were getting worse by the minute and she was being defeated by a box of Midol Extra Strength.

And _extra strength_ was exactly what Jim asked heaven to grant him.

He fumbled it in his haste to get her the relief she craved, finally tearing open the box with his teeth.

He was _that_ desperate.

Of course, there was the child-proof cap to wrangle, followed by the damn inner seal that was probably more secure than the watertight hatches in nuclear submarines.

His long fingers fumbled with it while his angel moaned in pain, cursing him and the entire male race, like he had something to do with her monthly woes.

Jim finally shook the two pills into her hand, poured her a tall glass of water, and helped her to bed. Jim placed the heating pad just so on her abdomen, turned off the lights, and escaped.

He leaned against their bedroom door, weary and weak. This time of the month was mentally and physically exhausting. Trixie was possessed by those Devil Hormones, and Jim - and anyone else unlucky enough to enter her orbit - were the ones who had to pay the Devil his due.

Or rather HER due.

Mart, Brian, and Dan complained about their spouses, too. Jim, always the man with the plan, had everything ready for when Trixie rejoined the land of the sane. Chocolate, ice cream, and his most sincere gaze as he assured her she didn't look bloated, pimply, or like something the cat dragged in.

A few hours later, Jim held his breath as Trixie found him in the kitchen, munching on a liverwurst sandwich. "Hi, babe." she greeted him with her sunny smile. "What 'cha eating?"

"Liverwurst. Want me to make you something? Soup? Sandwich?" _Personality transplant?_

"No, I'm all bloated and not hungry. Thanks for the tampons and the Midol. You're the _best."_ She went up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "I'm going to relax and watch _Murdock Mysteries."_

Jim noted that her refusal of a meal did not include the bag of Hershey Kisses awaiting their unwrapping on the counter. His (ha!) better half snagged the bag and floated out.

And _next_ month was _only_ 28 days away.


End file.
